The Hearth of The Heart
by Along Gator
Summary: Denmark is to Norway as fire is to hearth.


**Note: The characters do not belong to me. The cover picture belongs to the respective artist (found it on Tumblr). This story takes place after Finland runs away with Sweden. **

"I'll send you my love on a wire

Light you up every time

Everyone, ooh

Pulls away, ooh

From you"

-Metric, "Black Sheep"

* * *

News traveled fast in Scandinavia. Before Norway felt the need to even ask, his messengers had already informed him about Sweden's and Finland's escape from Denmark's hold. "It was high time that they did," he commented sharply. "Like anyone could actually live with that maniac..."

Even so, as a responsible nation, the Norwegian man felt the need to check in on the fool before he did anything stupid. At least, that was his initial reason for the visit.

Anyways.

When he arrived at Denmark's place, it was under a veil of an unusually heavy silence. His escorts that came along to ensure a safe journey suggested that they turn back. Norway refused, although he was feeling it more than his entourage. The worst case scenario would be that the Danish man had become possessed by an evil spirit. It would have made a rational reason for the unnerving quiet. To Norway, that is. And if it came to that, the Norwegian man would have to be there to exorcise it and whatnot.

"You don't have to come along. I'll be fine," murmured the blonde male, as he walked up the stone path leading to the massive front door. A door knocker the shape of a lion's head hung in the center, waiting for a visitor's hand. Before his guards could raise an argument, he used it to knock on the door aggressively. At the noise, a few of his group members uttered childish shrieks. "Stay outside. That's an order," he commanded with a sigh. God knows how much trouble and noise they would cause if they accompanied him.

The Norwegian man's ears picked up the sound of slow, muffled footsteps. A few minutes later, the door swung open to reveal the tyrant, Denmark. "_Hei. _Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked, in a flat tone. His navy blue eyes scrutinized the other man, taking in his disheveled but thankfully, dispossessed appearance.

"Yeah, come on in." He managed a small, but unconvincing smile. "What about your guards? Aren't they going to come along?"

"_Nei_, just you and me." Closing the door behind him, Norway stepped around the torn tapestries and clothes that lay around the front entry hall. They didn't mention this, he thought, reasoning that the Danish man found about their little escape plan before they could cross the threshold.

"_Undskyld, _about the mess... things got out of hand," apologized Denmark vaguely, noticing his friend's gaze resting on the dirtied fabrics.

"It's fine. Living room?"

"Yeah."

Unlike the other rooms, the living room was intact and looked normal. With a magnificent mahogany table in the center for multi-purposes, some luxurious velvet chairs strewn here and there, a cabinet full of porcelain plates, and a well-kept grandfather clock to keep time, there seemed to be nothing wrong or broken. Taking a seat near the fireplace, Norway stoked the dimming flame in the hearth. The journey to the Danish's home was short, but tiring and cold. He had to warm up.

In a short burst, the flame was blazing again, sending needed waves of warmth in Norway's direction. The cold, hardened expression that he wore fell away to one of placid tranquility. Across from the Norwegian, sat the Dane. Now that he had time to think about it, Denmark couldn't see a problem with making his cool friend move in with him. A childish sense of excitement filled him at the thought. How fun would that be? Too fun for the spiky-haired man to handle.

Grasping Norway's hands in his, Denmark said with a genuine grin, "Hey, why don't you live with me? I bet you'll like it here."

A blink of the eyes was the first response to the male's outrageous question. Only he could have astonished the Norwegian into utter silence. Only his pitiful optimism could have incited such a reaction following the inquiry.

"I can't replace them, Denmark." His voice was soft, as if he was speaking to a child.

This time, it was the Dane's turn to blink. "...of course not! You couldn't be them even if you tried!" he said with a chuckle.

"Then you don't need me." He wriggled his hands out of the man's hard grip.

"But..." His bright blue eyes studied the Norwegian's inscrutable expression, searching for a hint of indecision or sympathy. There was none.

"But nothing. You don't need me. You're fine on your own."

Quietly stunned, Denmark knelt, wearing a befuddled expression on his face. His legs were becoming weak, just like his brain. "Don't you want to be with me?" he murmured, looking up with a pleading gaze.

The Norwegian merely stared back, in silent thought. There was no right answer to this question. "Yes" would lead right back to the Dane's offer, while "no" would hurt him irreparably. And as for "maybe", that choice would be the worst to take. It would give the fool the hope of something that could be. Of something that would never be.

In an attempt to leave both the household and the inquiry, Norway stood up. Before he could take a step, the Danish man had wrapped his arms around the other's waist. Although he was a considerably powerful nation, the male was still a lonely child at heart.

Sighing, Norway tried to pry Denmark's hands away from his hips, but his strength wasn't on par with the Dane's. "I'll call my guards, if you don't let me go," warned the irritated man.

"As if they're going to barge in here! They're too busy getting scared shitless," Denmark shot back. He wasn't going to lose anymore of his friends. Not after those two had deserted him.

At the spiky-haired male's retort, Norway lost the little patience that he had. "I can see why Sweden and Finland fled. Being with you is insufferable. Every time I visit, even for a little while, it feels like my very soul is being muffled or better yet, _murdered_ by a pillow made of lead. _Every single time_. And you know what? If you don't let go of me this instant, you're going to feel the experience that I just mentioned." His quiet voice had picked up a few notches to make his point clear.

The Danish man stared up in amazement, astounded by the burst of words tumbling out of Norway's mouth. Never had he heard the man talk so much or so freely to him.

"_Now,_" he ordered.

With a small but noticeable whimper, Denmark let go. Feeling the man's grasp disappear, Norway made another attempt to depart, but once again, the Danish man's hands reached out to grab him. He had a weird talent of repeating past mistakes frequently.

But Norway would have none of it. Before he could get a good hold, the Norwegian spun around and landed a punch to send the man sprawling on the carpeted floor. _Serves you right_, he thought to himself, as he waited for Denmark's reaction. A few minutes passed by in silence. As the clock in the living room ticked on, Norway couldn't help but feel a sense of anxiety in his quickening heart. What had he done?

Slowly, the Norwegian squatted down to seize the man by his shoulders, shaking him. "_Hei_, stop fooling around..." Thankfully, now that he had a good look, the body was limp but breathing in stable intervals. He got worked up over nothing. Ha. Ha.

Steadying his nerves, Norway looked around for a potential bed. After all, it was his fault that Denmark was unconscious, even though the Dane was the one that made him react so violently. His eyes finally rested on the two velvet chairs. They would have to suffice. He might have been sorry, but he wasn't sorry enough to take Denmark upstairs to his bedroom. The possibility of Denmark waking up midway, and making weird assumptions like, oh did you want to take me that badly?- was enough for the man to shudder and set to work on building the bed.

What happened as a result was two velvet chairs pushed tightly together, with the strength of an infuriated Norwegian man. All he had left to do was to haul Denmark into the chairs. Then, he would be free of whatever guilt he possessed and could leave.

So, without further ado or elaboration, Norway dragged the man to his lovely bed of furniture. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow, once he was done. "_Gud_, you're so much work..." he muttered, as he rested on an arm of one of the chairs.

By then, the blonde-haired Norwegian should have left. He should have said a quick and hasty goodbye. There was no point in staying. His escorts were waiting for him, and they were probably - although he hated to admit Denmark was right - "scared shitless." So why wasn't he making his way to the door?

Ah. That's right. Dissatisfaction was the word he was looking for. He hadn't gotten paid his due. Normally, near the end of visits, Denmark would hug or do some ridiculously affectionate gesture that always infuriated the Norwegian. That, added to the fact that his guilt had not subsided in the least provided a potent potion for something unexpected.

_I'm just keeping up with the tradition_, was his excuse, as he leaned over to kiss the Dane's forehead. The kiss was fleeting, at best. A mere brush of the lips on foreign skin. It only lasted a few seconds. And yet, by the time Norway got back to his own home, the simple gesture felt like it had lasted for an eon. The simple gesture had left him dazed for the day and the following week. Who was he to do such a thing? He was no Denmark, so what had gotten into his head? The answer seemed so muddled at first. It only occurred to him, after a few sleepless nights. It was that:

The heat from the flames had left him in a "warm" mood.

Yeah. That was it.

* * *

**Another Note: It has occurred to me that Norway and Denmark's relationship is similar to that of Hotaru and Mikan's from Gakuen Alice. Also, **_**"hei" **_**is hey,**_** "nei" **_**is**** no, **_**"undskyld" **_**is sorry,** **_"Gud"_ is God. **


End file.
